Page 41 of Wings of War

However, Fort Defense was protected by the Wall. Mongavaria could send their airships over to duke it out with the airships stationed at Fort Defense, but they couldn’t attack more than that.

Since Dar Goranth wasn’t protected by the Wall, Mongavaria could attack from sea, air, and land, if they could get close enough. If they took Dar Goranth, they could cripple the naval power of all three kingdoms and likely enforce a blockade of the coast.

Fieran shrugged, grimacing at the newspaper in his hands. “Perhaps they will attack both. Though both are heavily fortified and prepared for such a sneak attack. Any attack would be costly.”

“It doesn’t seem like Mongavaria cares.” Pip resisted the shudder that traced down her spine.

Cut off from the rest of Tarenhiel as they had been at the western rail terminal, she hadn’t known how tense things were with Mongavaria. But here in Bridgetown, the possibility of war was just about the only topic in the papers. People chatted on street corners about a coming war as casually as someone might talk about the weather. Everyone talked as if it was a matter of when and where, and not if.

She’d joined the Mechanics Auxiliaries because she’d been restless. But it seemed that her restlessness would lead her straight into a war sooner or later.

Chapter

Fourteen

Fieran added the last item to his rucksack—in the correct layers—then hefted it to his back.

At the end of their bunk, Lije patted the bars of his mama’s soap—she had sent him a fresh batch in their latest mail—and stowed them in his footlocker before closing the lid.

“Keep that soap safe. We’re going to need it after we get back.” Pretty Face glanced at himself one last time in his mirror before he tucked the mirror into his footlocker.

Across the way, Tiny grinned as he swung his rucksack to his shoulders. “Will you survive a week in the bush without a shower?”

“I don’t know how we’ll survive when you haven’t had a shower in a week.” Stickyfingers shoved Tiny’s arm before he stood and grabbed his own rucksack.

Merrik’s mouth curled a little bit, as if he was not looking forward to the lack of showers.

The drill sergeant stepped inside and yelled for them to fall in.

Lije grabbed his rucksack as the rest of them hurried to step into line.

For once, Fieran was correctly turned out, and he didn’t get his stuff tossed around or had to do extra PT. He was improving. Slowly.

As they marched from their barracks, Fieran tried not to gape at the cylindrical airship that currently rested just above the airstrip, ropes tying it down to the ground and to the roof of the hangar.

The dirigible had a thin canvas sheeting stretched over metal ribs, forming the massive balloon shape. The canvas was painted a matte gray that didn’t shine in the sun with the large green, gray, and red circle emblem of the Alliance emblazoned on either side.

Capt. Arfeld waited at the base of a rope ladder, standing next to a short, squat man in a dark blue uniform with gold braids on his sleeves. He must be the captain of the airship, which would take them from Fort Linder to Fort Charibert on the eastern side of Escarland.

As Fieran and his unit halted before the hangar, lined up in two long rows, Pip and the other mechanics hurried from the hangar, falling into place at the end of the column.

Fieran risked breaking formation long enough to send a small wave at Pip.

She smiled and waved back with a subtle movement of her fingers.

Fieran quickly faced forward again before he made a fool of himself by having to do a hundred push-ups in front of everyone, including an airship filled with naval airmen.

Once they were all there, Capt. Arfeld turned to the captain next to him. “Permission for my men—and woman—to come aboard?”

The other captain nodded, though he swept a sour glance over the long line of flyboys and mechanics, as if he wasn’t happy about being the airship captain assigned with the duty of giving army pilots and mechanics some cross training in an airship. “Permission granted.”

With a few barked orders, the sergeant had them lined up single file to climb the rope ladder.

Fieran struggled not to tap his foot as he waited for the others. Despite the training on the obstacle course, some of the men in his unit struggled with the long rope ladder, twisting and swinging as they attempted to ascend.

When it was finally Fieran’s turn, he climbed the rope easily. Was he showing off a bit? Maybe. It wasn’t like he was the only one with elven agility. Merrik, coming up behind him, also ascended the ladder as if it was nothing. Pip, too, likely wouldn’t have any difficulty.

At the top, Fieran was directed by an ensign down a cramped corridor. The wooden floor bounced a bit while the passageway was only about two feet wide, the roof only a few inches above Fieran’s head. The occasional round window gave a view of the sky, keeping the corridor from feeling too claustrophobic. On the other side, a few doors led into the officers’ quarters. Every few yards, a hatch led to a machine gun emplacement in the surrounding catwalk, a reminder that this was no tourist airship on a luxury cruise.

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